


Talk

by indigowaterbears



Series: Talk [1]
Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relapsing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigowaterbears/pseuds/indigowaterbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia stumbles into the hospital after drinking, only she stumbles on an equally drunk Owen sleeping in her on call room. The inevitable confrontation leads to something neither of them would have ever expected. post 1208</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk

When she shut the door behind her - harder than she should have considering the late hour - Amelia sighed. She was drunk, like she had been after her shift yesterday and the night before, and it felt so damn good. Actually, it didn't feel like anything at all, which definitely felt damn amazing. Work was a good enough distraction, but whenever she was done with blood and brains, and sutures and ER consults, everything came back up to the surface and the pain inside her was so intense that she felt suffocated by it. Everything in her life had gone straight to hell and it appeared she was on her way there as well. It was all so fast, it happened, and before she knew it, it was all gone. Meredith, the kids, her family, her home, Owen and their future were all gone and it hurt so bad Amelia could not let herself feel it. It wasn't caving, it wasn't giving in or giving up, it was just how things went. It was her life story. Poor, screwed up Amelia lets everyone down once more, but after the first time and the second time, who was even counting now. She certainly wasn't.

What made her feel relatively more sane, was that her first thought after that first sip of vodka at the bar wasn't the second sip or the second glass or the second bottle. It was her sobriety going down the drain, it was Derek and Owen and the whole lot of nothing she had left in her life. She thought of all the people she was letting down – besides herself – she thought of how hard she had fought for years for nothing. That second sip was on the way to have never existed when something else had come to mind. Or someone, rather. Amelia thought of her boy, the little baby she had held in her arms, only to have him wheeled away and taken apart. Her son was dead and suddenly that second glass was sitting right in front of her, daring her to go on, to take one more drink, to sink further down into the abyss.

Needless to say, she had. Repeatedly. She had slept at the hospital those past few nights. This on call room was generally empty and not as popular as the other ones. It was isolated and these corridors were mainly empty, all that was around were exam rooms and labs. No patients, no doctors. Her luck wasn't all that casual, she'd had to think to find this perfect spot and both nights it had been as she expected. Empty and cold and lonely. Just what she wanted, only tonight _her_ on call room came with another doctor. Not only Amelia was undulating between tipsy and drunk, while still pretending to be the poster girl for sobriety, she was also on a mission to avoid – amongst everyone – two surgeons in particular. Meredith, where the feeling was mutual and who had been avoiding her like the plague, and Owen, who was currently lying on the bed in front of her.

Amelia just stood there frozen in her spot, her fuzzy brain couldn't come up with any kind of plan of action, but just stare blankly. Owen was dressed in shirt and jeans, shoes thrown haphazardly near the bed, leather jacket near his feet. She felt her cheeks stretch a little, his nose was red and the circles under his eyes were darker than usual and she hated that - these days she hated all of him. He'd been the one to tell her about this little hole of peace in the chaos, and they had often made the most of the quiet and calm this room offered. Her heart clenched at the memory and anger flamed through her for letting herself fall for it all over again. For letting him hurt her again.

When a strangled sob made it out of her mouth loud enough for him to hear, Owen was startled awake. His dazed, emotionless, blank eyes matched hers and he stared at her while she stared at him. Amelia's mouth opened a couple of times to say something, excuse herself, yell at him, she didn't even know what to say, but in the end no sound would come out.

"Amelia?" he croaked out, voice hoarse from sleeping and drinking. The stare down continued as neither knew what to say or if there was anything to be said at all. Everything had been left up in the air and they really had no idea where they stood. Owen clumsily patted the space on the bed next him, never leaving her eyes.

She resisted. Amelia did, but, soon enough, the alcohol in her system took over and she complied, following his simple instruction. Wanting to be held by him and wanting him to disappear at the same time was not something she could handle at the moment and it was messing with her head. Amelia sat down with her back to him, right in front of his chest. Owen sat up as well, leaning with his back against the wall, but Amelia was just there, immobile, facing away from him.

"Amelia?" he called again, his voice a little deeper and fuller than before. His hand reached across and covered hers, resting beside her leg. When she didn't pull away at all, he pressed down a little, getting a gentle sigh from her. His thumb started tracing the line of her knuckles, back and forth, on and on again. Nobody said anything for a while, nobody moved except for Owen's hand on Amelia's. It was easy and quiet and calm and they both enjoyed the comfort without all the implications and consequences, without all that came along with being together.

Yet, it was obviously not enough. Owen tugged at Amelia's hand, forcing her to turn around and look at him. She bent her knee, resting it on the bed, twisting her back half way to face him. "Amelia."

It wasn't a question this time. It wasn't a request. It was a statement, it was Owen acknowledging her presence there with him and nothing more and, for the first time, it sounded sincere. It sounded true, because that's all that was. Amelia stared deep into his eyes and felt the burn of alcohol on an empty stomach deep in her belly. The feeling that kept her alive and going for so long. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. "Owen."

As her voice became loud enough for him to hear he pulled her hand further towards him, but this time she didn't budge. Maybe in broad daylight, Doctor Hunt would have let go and Doctor Shepherd would have run away, fast as her feet would carry her. If alcohol hadn't been poured in the mix, Owen might have said something and Amelia would have yelled. What happened was what they'd end up regretting tomorrow. Owen didn't waste anymore time with her hand and grabbed her whole arm pulling her into his chest. Amelia fell into him heavily, as if her body was slowly shutting down, letting him take all the weight. Strong arms wrapped around her tightly and his head leaned against her own, holding her with such force it hurt - he was literally squishing her to him, making it harder to breathe. Suddenly, Amelia felt guilty for drinking. Amelia felt like she'd failed yet another person in her life, probably one of the few ones left who actually cared.

That was, however, short lived, because just as quickly Owen pulled away, holding her shoulders at arms length, staring into her eyes, his gaze piercing and soul searching. "Are you drunk?"

Amelia didn't hear the concern and the fear, all Amelia heard was the accusation. All she could see was another finger pointed at her, all she saw was someone else looking down at her and she couldn't have that. She'd take the rest, but this was too much. She knew him enough that she knew he was far more drunk than she was and Amelia smiled slyly, nuzzling into his neck, pushing against his arms keeping her at a distance. "You," she whispered against the skin on his neck, against that little patch of skin her medical training thought her had nerves so sensitive, it had the potential to impair someone's cognitive ability. "are drunk."

Owen pulled her away again, looked down into the blue eyes before him, searching, hunting, hoping. "You have been drinking." And it wasn't a question. It wasn't a statement either, not the way his eyes were still wide and waiting and his eyebrows had risen so high up on his forehead. "Amelia, you don't drink." He added, putting into words as best as he could the fact that she was a recovering addict, not so recovering anymore.

It was seconds, minutes, not like either one of them would have noticed. Amelia started to feel dread and fear and panic, because if he knew, if he kicked her out of here she'd have nowhere to go. There was nothing left to do. But one thing.

Amelia kissed him. Hard and violent and angry, pouring all her feelings into the kiss, a part of her hoping it would actually hurt, making him feel a little of her pain. The sharp intake of breath from Owen was the last thing she heard before he pushed her off. "Amelia-"

"Shut up." She kissed him again, with as much fervor as before, if maybe a little more to try and convince him to either drop it or kiss her back. Her hands went up to his neck, tangling in his hair and taking control of his cheek, pushing him against her.

Her bag dropped to the floor and her whole body turned to his, without breaking the kiss. Owen was still and Amelia didn't know if it was because he couldn't function enough or if he still needed enticing. For a second she pulled away, mere inches, to look in his eyes, running her finger down from his cheekbone slowly and languidly down his cheek and jaw and neck and shoulder, hand planting on his chest, leaving a trail of fire down his body. It seemed Owen had enough encouragement because one his arms sneaked behind her back, dragging her to him, kissing her this time. There was pulling, biting and the fight for control left them equal, no matter how long it went on. It was brutal and primal and painful. There were no hugs and caresses, no cuddles and sweet kisses, it was just animal instinct and a bit more. No feelings and no reason at all.

Amelia tore his shirt open with one hand, sending buttons flying everywhere around them. It shocked Owen a little, who pulled away and his dark, hazy eyes met her twin ones. Before she could continue he went for her neck, pulling her roughly to him and holding her while he bit and sucked at her pale skin, his hands rubbing and grabbing everywhere all over her. Despite her growing inability to function she got his shirt off, seconds before he managed to rid her of the black one she was wearing, pulling it over her head. It was emotionless and harsh and exactly what they wanted. It was painful and hurtful and not Amelia nor Owen could have imagined it being so perfect, such imperfect people managing something like this. Clothes flew all over the room and soon there were no more, just the stray button still in the bed with them.

It was a nightmare and it was all they could imagine all at once. There was the fear of the unknown, the paralyzing fear of not knowing if this was the last time, if this was a goodbye. The fear that this was just the beginning of something new, something dark and painful and complicated. They clung to each other like they never had before, feeling this connection keeping them afloat for however short it was going to last, a life line in the storm. Owen was letting out a side of him not even Cristina had managed to drag out from the deepest, darkest side of his soul. His sober, more rational self was going to die inside about this, he knew he was hurting her and he hated that she was taking it, because she wanted this hurt. Because she felt like she deserved it. He would also process that his Amelia was drinking again and he had no idea what that meant, and it terrified him to his bones, like that time on the deck he managed to take a bag of pills from her hand, only now it was too late.

Amelia's hands were holding onto his for dear life, fingernails leaving bloody marks all over his back. This was not going to last. _This_ was as long as it was going to last, she was acting on borrowed time. Soon enough it would all start to crumble down beneath her feet and she wasn't ready for that again. Not like she'd ever be ready for that again, not after what happened last time. It started how it began, sparking out of anger and disappointment, fueled by whatever force it was drawing them constantly together. Amelia shoved away Owen's arms as they wrapped around her tiny frame, after he laid down behind her on the bed. This wasn't what she'd expected to happen tonight and this couldn't happen ever again. By the time morning came around, after several relentless tries on his part to comfort her and as many rejections, Owen and Amelia laid back to back, trying to be as far away as possible in a space that barely held them both.

Owen woke first and sat up, waking Amelia in the process, taking away the covers, letting the freezing cold air hit her skin. While he started redressing in the scrubs he'd so neatly left on the bed beside him the night before, Amelia awoke with a groan, feeling her raging headache, rolling over in bed, away from the morning light. He turned to look at her and he saw all that he'd missed the night before.

Still not entirely awake, Amelia managed to put together most pieces from the night before, from the second she set foot in this room to this very moment, while she laid in bed naked watching Owen get dressed in front of her – not entirely sure what it was that happened that night between them. She frowned, looking at her clothes and realizing they were literally everywhere. She sat up in bed slightly, pulling the sheet up, clutching it close to her chest, Amelia looked up at Owen, desperately trying to avert his eyes. "Could you… could you, uh, get me scrubs?"

He nodded and left, just like that, without saying a word, without a smile, without any emotion. Amelia swallowed, feeling as if her mouth was full of sand and her whole body he been run over by a bus – several times. Glancing under the sheet she caught sight of enough purplish areas on her body, enough to know that by tonight she'd be covered in bruises. Amelia had no intention to dawdle on whatever happened and reached for her bra and underwear, patiently waiting for Owen to come back, so she wouldn't walk out in just her underwear or the same clothes she'd been wearing for two days straight. She should probably think about getting her stuff and… find somewhere to take it to.

As Owen walked back in and handed her the navy scrubs, she tried her best to avoid his pitiful eyes. She hated that. The second he'd seen her body, what he'd done to her, he'd changed. His detached demeanor turned to guilty and pitiful. Ignoring him entirely Amelia got dressed and collected her clothes, noting with bitter disappointment that her shirt was torn and she now had no shirt to wear tonight. Her shoulders fell, just imperceptibly, but Owen had been staring at her closely enough to see it.

"Amelia…" he called softly, from his position standing a few feet away from her. "Are those the same clothes you had the other day?"

She did, she tried. Amelia shook her head, but the smile plastered on her face faded the second she was faced with Owen's eyes. She wanted this over and fast. "Yeah. I'll just have them… I'll just ask Maggie to get me-"

"Maggie?" asked Owen, worry in his voice, not anger and not judgement. "Why does Pierce have to get your clothes?"

For someone who just wanted to leave the room and get on as if the last ten hours hadn't happened, Amelia was doing a bang up job. "She, uh… I don't…" she sighed, looking down at her lap, fingering the flimsy material of her ruined shirt. There was no way out. She'd trapped herself and Owen wasn't going to let this go. Owen, who never opened his mouth about himself, would not let her get away with something both of them knew to be a lie. "I don't live there anymore."

"What?"

"Meredith kicked me out." Amelia admitted with less feeling she would have expected from a wound still bleeding so heavily. "I don't live there anymore."

Owen shut his eyes tightly, rubbing a hand on his forehead. "Why?"

The accusation in his tone was evident and it just added to the fire burning inside of Amelia. More than that, it was how he automatically assumed she'd done something – she should have expected it, Meredith could do no wrong, no. Meredith was the good sister, she was the perfect one. She had everyone gravitating around her and everyone silently complied. "Does it matter?" Amelia spat at him, standing, holding a bundle of clothes and her bag.

"Yes!" Owen raised his voice, moving in front of the door, physically blocking her from leaving. "Of course it matters."

Amelia bit the inside of her cheek. "That's a nice change, but it's whatever, Owen."

Owen didn't reply, maybe the more rational party here had the obligation to put an end to this back and forth of nothingness. He stared deep into her eyes, his gaze so intense she had to look away and it felt like he was trying to dive in deep into her mind and she couldn't allow that to happen. Amelia walked up to him, looking him pointedly, switching between him and the door. "You're not leaving until you tell me."

"Really?!" Amelia spat. "Seriously, Owen?" Dropping her clothes on the bed, along with her bag. "You want to know why, uh?" the second he nodded Amelia smirked. "We had an argument and it ended badly, it was horrible and awful and it was bad. You want to know what it was about? You. Owen. We had an argument because of you and now I don't live there anymore, and I don't have a house or a bed or clothes and so I have to ask Maggie to get me some. Happy now?"

Owen was slowly shaking his head, confused, feeling attacked and taken aback by what Amelia was saying. "You had an argument over me?" he asked calmly and quietly, eyebrows rising a little, brows knitting.

Amelia gave him another lopsided smile. "Don't worry it wasn't like that. It won't have to be like that again. Not with me. You have Meredith now, Meredith who's such a good friend she's carrying out your ex's wifely duties to keep you from getting too messed up. Should have been me, but hey – I guess, this talks by itself." She paused, breathing in and out, feeling a strange satisfaction in what was happening with Owen's face. Disappointment faded into confusion and disgust. "I won't go up against her. I won't compete with someone who lives on the other freaking side of the planet and still has such a hold on you. I'm done, so congratulations. You have really, really loyal friends."

Still puzzled and hurt and helpless at what was going on right before him Owen felt his shoulders slump, eyes hitch with unshed tears. "I don't understand, what does Cristina have to with any of this?"

"Oh, you didn't know, then?" Amelia breathed exasperatedly. "She made Meredith promise to keep an eye on you, you know? I know you do. Apparently, though, it's an exclusive thing. Meredith told me to stay away, that this-this thing with Riggs, whatever the hell it is, it's not my business and I should stay very far away."

"But-"

"According to you, she's right." Blue met blue and there was fire burning and Owen had no idea what to do. The only thing he knew, the one thing he was certain of was the Amelia got hurt getting tangled up in his mess and he'd never meant for that to happen. "So move and let me leave. This… last night should have never happened. _That_ was a mistake, but don't worry we won't have to talk about it, I know you don't do that."

Just like that something went off in Owen's head. It was pure luck that he caught her when she tried to push past him out of the door, using his physical vantage to block her. "Amelia you were drunk last night." He wasn't sure and he couldn't remember it all that clearly having drunk quite enough himself.

" _You_ were drunk last night." Amelia retorted dryly, grabbing her stuff back up, not wanting to stay and discuss any of this any further.

The more Owen thought about it, though, the more the bits and pieces that were coming back to him, started to fall into place, giving him a clearer view of what had happened. "You drank?" his voice was broken, the accusation and judgement dripping from his words earlier had disappeared and he looked like she had just run over his puppy. "Amelia… no. Don't do that, please." He begged, but Amelia was just there, like a statue, not moving or showing any emotion whatsoever. "Please, I can help, I can-"

"I don't want your help." She breathed, looking into his eyes, through the tears blurring most of her vision. Catching him off guard Amelia slipped past him, opening the door and stopping when she already had a foot out to look back at Owen, who looked like he was breaking from the inside out. "Not with this."


End file.
